Page 129 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
“But I’m notwithhim,” I insist, though I sound a little toothe lady doth protest too much,even to my ears.“You believe me, right?”
She waves a hand airily. “I don’t need to know who you shag.”
I sigh. I’m not annoyed at her. I’m annoyed with the Hollywood rumor mill, which chews gristle it finds on the side of the road. “Holly, I’m not.”
She tucks loose strands of blonde hair behind one ear then the other. “Love, I don’t care who you bang or don’t bang. Yoursex life is yours, and you can bang a banana for all I care, as long as you do it behind closed doors.”
“I don’t bang bananas. Or even eat them.” I stab the tablet screen again, pointing to the supposedly incriminating evidence of how the two of us allegedlyrock-starredthe hotel room, destroying first the minibar—after devouring the contents—then a couple of lamps and a mirror. The truth? I wasn’t even in the room with this guy. I came to save his ass. “And since there were banana Gummi Bears on this five-figure bill, that should prove this wasn’t my eat-everything-and-destroy-the-minibar-too episode.”
“Of course it wasn’t. But the point is, you paid this bill forhim. You left the hotel withhim. You were affectionate withhim.” Seems she can’t even say his name either. “These photos aren’t what you need right now.”
“But isn’t this bill proof of what I’m saying? He’s a friend! He’s only ever been a friend.” I try desperately to make my point. “I paid it as a favor. To help him. He was in a right state, and I needed to get him home. I don’t eat any of this stuff. Candy, pretzels, and crisps are not on my meal plan.”
“This bill is total rubbish. Slade, the new PR guy, will sort it out when he talks to Rikki Finch later today.”
I shudder at hearing the name of the woman who single-handedly runsThe Hollywood Scoop. The most powerful blogger in Hollywood, she’s broken story after story. She has sources everywhere. “What is your agency’s publicist going to say?”
“Thathe’sa friend.”
“He is!”
She deals me anI’ve-got-thissmile. “We’re going to make you look all shiny and new. We’ve got a plan. Because here at CTM, we pride ourselves on looking out for our clients’ bestinterests. These pictures are not in your best interests, so we’re going to brainwash them away.”
I can’t imagine that’ll be easy sinceThe Hollywood Scoophas recently run several allegedly salacious photos. First, Rikki ran a pic of me heading into the guy’s home late at night. For the record, I went to his house to check on him. The site ran a shot of him backing his car into his neighbor’s garage. That was fucking grand. And now this hotel sequence, capped off with him kissing me outside the entrance when I’d only gone there to help him. Yep, it sure looks like I’m entangled with the world’s worst boyfriend.
“But I can explain,” I say, and once those words escape my lips, memories race back. TJ once implored me with those same words, but I barely let the man I’d fallen for explain a thing.
That fight with my American almost-boyfriend haunts me. But then, TJ’s parting words do too.This isn’t what I wanted when I came to LA, he’d said.
I wince, then shove away the painful memory.
Holly shakes her head. “We’ll handle the explanations. You and I will join Slade at the office shortly to review the plan.”
“You’re not going to drop me, then?” As the world’s biggest and most successful talent agency, CTM prides itself on its squeaky-clean rep. Holly’s part of CTM now, and I can’t bear the thought that she’d ditch me.
She gives apfft. “We’re certainly not going to drop you when you’re the talk of the town. Thanks toIf Found, Please Return.”
I translate that asif you weren’t nominated for an Oscar, we’d probably drop you over these pics.
My world’s been a whirlwind since the original star of the flick broke his leg skydiving midway through the shoot last spring. The indie studio scrambled to hold auditions for a replacement. I won the lead, a broken-hearted drug counselor who lost his wife to addiction,and after a twenty-six-day shootin Vancouver, the film was fast-tracked into theaters late last year.
Now, here I am, a little amazed at the turn my life has taken and a bit shocked at how quickly the press has turned on me because of my friend’s troubles.
“Good,” I tell Holly with a smile. “Because you’re the best agent I’ve had.”
Holly pats my hand. “It’s not a tough competition.”
“True,” I say, since it’s not hard to beat Harry. “But at least you and I have different taste in men.”
“Yes, and I like my men in the rearview mirror and far away from the Pomander Walk apartment—which was the best thing I got in the divorce settlement.”
“It is quite pretty,” I agree. I saw it when she invited me to a dinner party shortly after arriving in New York.
Holly folds her hands, her pear-shaped diamond glinting in the light—the ring she bought herself when she kicked ex-husband number two to the curb for cheating.“Now, do you trust me to fix this?”
Holly knows most of my deepest secrets, so I’d say yes. “Considering I’ve told you I’m afraid of failure, hat hair, and falling madly in love again, I’d say I trust you unequivocally.”
“I promise I’ll do my part to make sure you’re never photographed with bad hair, love. But you must do your part to make sure you’re not photographed with bad boys.”